


Turn 'em out

by cryogenia



Series: Keep a light on for me [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Service Top, Sex Toys, Stone Top, are also a thing, doms who also bottom, it's a thing, team showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryogenia/pseuds/cryogenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sequel to "Light 'em up")  </p><p>All things considered, Bucky's doing...okay, for the most part. He still has a burner phone and a shitty, under-the-table job, but he's got a roof over his head and a minifridge and a halfway decent hot plate. And Steve. </p><p>They don't always sync up completely on what they need, but that's okay too. Tonight, he's going to give Steve something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn 'em out

**Author's Note:**

> Just in time for spring - 10k of unrepentant Stucky bdsm! As always, full (but spoiler-y) content info provided in the end comments. 
> 
> Happy belated birthday, Bucky Barnes!

“It’s not going to fit,” Artur pronounces with that same insufferable sigh he’s been rocking all day. Bucky glares at the shrinkwrapped sectional and resists the urge to kick his coworker into it.

“Yes, it fucking is. Move your ass.”

Fucking idiot. The freight elevator is nowhere near capacity; Artur just doesn’t know how to pack. Bucky elbows him aside and picks up the armchair that’s angled incorrectly, flips it up on top of its mate in the back.

“We could make another trip?”

“Not in this weather,” Bucky grunts. “C’mon. Tip her up.”

They pick up the couch from both ends and wiggle it vertically into the car. Admittedly, it’s annoying even with the space Bucky cleared. The Skyline 21 is always a shit move - nightmare of a building, low ceilings and narrow hallways. Worst of all,  _ new _ . God forbid you scrape the paint. According to the bill they send you, a can of spackle costs a hundred bucks. 

He puts Artur on point to run the switch and draws the elevator closed himself, first the outside loading dock doors, then the chainlink cage itself. Even in the relative coolness of the dark elevator, it feels like he’s shutting himself in an oven.

Bucky wriggles a hand into his jeans to pull out his phone.

< _ Hot as balls in here fml _ > he texts Steve, not that he expects an answer. Sometimes it’s good just to scream at the universe. He doesn’t remember if spring used to be this unpredictable or if this is another thing HYDRA screwed up in the past seventy years. Global warming feels like their flavor of bullshit.

The elevator clicks and jerks upward maybe two inches, then drops back down with an alarming clang. Artur jumps halfway out of his skin.

“For fuck’s sake! Yuri!” Artur howls up the elevator shaft. “Close the gate!”

Bucky draws a breath in slow, counts it out by folding fingers. One-two-three-four-five and he’s not taking a shot but it’s comforting to zero in. Someone is screaming but it’s not him, it’s Artur. 

Artur. Coffee table. Armchairs, sectional, cardboard boxes. Breathe. He doesn't have time to freaking freak out. The client's only paid through six-thirty; any longer and they'll have to bill for OT - which he'd bet his other arm she's not willing to pay. It's always the rich ones who split hairs the finest, like they think they got rich in spite of the whole world trying to screw them.

“Yuri!”

Bucky thumps his metal arm against the wall of the cage. Even gloved, it makes a screeching clang loud enough to wake the dead. The elevator simply hiccups again.

“He’s not listening,” Bucky growls. “Hang on.”

Bucky weaves around the awkwardly shaped sectional and makes a beeline for the stop button. Artur's closer but he could give a shit. Artur can deal with this fucking death trap. Bucky boosts the inner gate with his right hand and the shaft door with his left and shimmies out to safety.

"I'll fix it," he promises, and shuts both gates before Artur can offer to go instead.

He makes a beeline for the service stairs, concentrating on his breathing. Compared to the elevator, the drab concrete feels open and airy. Something in his pocket buzzes and he bats at it, mystified.

Phone. Text.  _ Steve,  _ he was texting  _ Steve. _ Mother of god, he hates it when he blanks on things. 

_ [Steve: You should try running in it]   _

The text is followed by a ridiculous number of emoji, first a winking face, then a crying face, then an entire row of...swimming guys?  

Not for the first time, he wonders if it was a good idea to let Steve pick the prepaids.

_ <wtf> _

_ <Did u trip and miss the  _ _ :running guy: _ _ ]  _

Bucky inserts the little picture of a runner, proud that he can both text and take stairs two at a time. The distraction helps, he thinks. This latest prepaid comes with an unfair amount of faces so he has to identify and choose from even more emotions.

[Steve: I’m swimming in my sweat?]  He adds another swimmer and a couple strings of teardrops. Bucky supposes they’re meant to be sweat drops. Steve is a quick study but his phones at work have never been anything but No Frills No Fun, and the exact language of emoji eludes him. 

_ <You and me both pal> _

_ <Mb late> _

_ <27f of stairs bc> _

_ <Coworker is an idiot> _

_ [Steve: ???] _

_ <Tell you later> _

_ <Yuri sucks> _

Bucky pauses on the next landing to peel his hoodie off his back. He flaps the bottom back and forth, trying to fan cooler air inside, but it only wants to adhere to his skin. He’s only on the thirteenth floor and already the heat is starting to get to him. The Skyline itself is climate controlled, but not in the access stairwells. Waste of money probably, when the residents all take the fancy tower elevators. 

_ <14f to go> _ he texts Steve at the two-thirds mark.  _ <If I die bury me in ur tits> _

He is incredibly disappointed when Steve’s response pic is a close-up middle finger and not a down-blouse of Steve’s sweat soaked chest. 

After what feels like an aeon of running, he finally, blessedly hits the twenty seventh floor. Bucky barrels his way out of the stifling concrete stair into a veritable wall of frigid air. There’s a moment - it’s hard not to seize, when everything around you is suddenly so  _ cold _ \- but then he’s still halfway to soft-boiled, and his arm is definitely not freezing up. If anything, it’s starting to make too damn much noise venting beneath the hoodie. 

Air conditioning: survivable. There’s some fuckin’ irony.

_ <acccccc accccquired> _ he texts Steve as he jogs toward the service closet. 

_ [Steve: lucccccky] _

_ <Just go home you Morton> _

_ [Steve: moron? ;) ] _

_ <I know u are but what am I> _

Bucky rounds the corner to the service bay where the freight elevator puts out on this floor. It’s not hard to tell where the problem lies. The shaft is protected by two manual, horizontal steel shutters - currently gaping an easy inch apart. Any time the shaft is exposed, no matter how unlikely it is someone could fall in, the whole system automatically shuts into interlock.

He waits long enough to hear the motor engage, indicating that the car is on its way up, then turns on a dime and sprints to 2703. There’s another set of dollies that Yuri should have free by now, assuming his thumb isn’t entirely up his ass. He bangs on the door with his metal hand one-two-three times.

The client lets him in with a slightly too-wide smile, and a rosy flush across her face that seems incongruous with the pleasant temperature of her apartment. She's a mid-thirties woman with a long ponytail and a lithe body toned in a pattern that suggests ex-dancer? Agile, but not observant enough to be a Widow. Unless she’s a Widow playing friendly on purpose to throw him off. He could run in circles the rest of his life wondering if he’s talking to a Widow, so he chooses not to think about it.

“Rest’s on its way up,” he says gruffly to the not-Widow, keeping his head down. He spaced her name thirty minutes into the move and now he’s desperately hoping she doesn’t want to make small talk.

"Thank you," the client purrs. Her attention is somewhere to the left, though. Bucky peers through a doorway and Yuri is planted in the middle of her postage stamp bedroom, screwing a black metal bedframe together. He’s got his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, the son of a bitch. 

“ _ You left the gate open _ ,” Bucky snarls in Russian. 

Yuri doesn’t even pretend to get up. His eyes flick to the client behind Bucky.

“ _ Sorry _ ,” he says sweetly, drawing the syllables out. 

“ _ ‘Sorry’, my ass. Get your hand off your dick and help _ ,” Bucky snaps. He switches back to English and tips his head toward the client. “Miss.”

The client smiles with red, red lips and taps something rapidly into her StarkPhone. Bucky knows she doesn’t speak Russian but she thinks the language is attractive; she’s been texting someone all day about the “hot Eastern European movers”. Another aggravation. He’s had to wear his hair sticky and thick around his face to keep his features out of her creepshots. 

He hears another tell-tale click as he bends to pick up dollies. She’s not even pretending to be subtle at this point.

_ <lady won’t stop taking pics >:( > _ he tells Steve on his way back to the elevator, all the dollies threaded on his metal arm. 

Steve’s response is a blurry picture of a man with a huge telephoto lens hunkered down next to a park bench. The man looks more than slightly alarmed.

_ [Steve: I know the feeling] _

_ <u harassing papps?> _

_ [Steve: Technically they’re harassing me] _

_ <Don’t get your ass arrested> _

_ <I got better plans for it> _

_ [Steve: that a threat or a promise] _

_ <Both> _

He stuffs his phone back in his pocket and swings back into the service room to help Artur unload. Artur’s already got half the load pushed up against the wall; it’s child’s play to fall in and shuffle boxes onto the flat, wheeled dollies.

“Where’s Yuri?” 

“Fucked if I know,” Bucky grunts. “Flirting.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Pick it up, we’ll be fine,” he says as he takes off with the first pile. Boxes are okay, they’re fast and routine, and he can flat-out run with a dolly as long as the stack is balanced. 

The only problem is the  _ heat _ . Even in the relative arctic of the hallway, his arm is starting to lag like a son of a bitch. Every box he lifts makes the plates flare a little wider as they try to brace and vent at the same time. By the time he gets the last part of the sectional shifted he is panting like a goddamn dog, and in no mood to listen to Yuri’s shit about needing help with the headboard.    
  
He knows regular people can't hear his arm. He  _ knows _ . But the servos are so goddamn _ loud _ in his own ears, teeny tiny whirring clicks. Every picture the lady takes sets something twitching higher and higher in his face, until he just can’t take it any more.

“May I use your facilities?” he asks the client with the sweetest smile he can muster. Tucks his bangs back behind his ear for good measure. He knows what he looks like when he bites his lip and flips his hair back, even when he’s dripping with sweat. It’s not vanity, it’s survival. And it works, because the client bites her lower lip as well, an unconscious mirroring of his own body language.

“Sure,” she says, waving to a tiny ensuite bathroom. Giggles at something on her phone. He ducks inside before she can finish her creepshot of his face.

_ <That’s it, Snapchat is fucking banned> _ he texts Steve. Angry face, knife, knife, knife, knife, sun. He peels off his hoodie and hurls it onto the floor, disgusted by the way it squelches on impact.

_ [Steve: Sorry to hear that] _

_ [Steve: Mb this will make you feel better??] _

Bucky turns on the faucet to the coldest possible setting, splashes his face as much as he can. He wishes he could stick his head under, maybe strip off the rest of his clothes. Both seem like extremely bad ideas.

_ <Is it a dick pic?> _ he asks Steve instead. 

_ oSteve: No] _

Steve sends through a smiley face sticking out its tongue and a link to his official Instagram. The most recent image is a selfie of Steve, extremely up close and personal with a familiar, sheepish-looking camera man. The caption reads “I hide behind trash cans taking pictures of joggers #paparazzishaming”. Frustrated as he is, Bucky still can’t help but crack a smile.

_ [Steve: Is it too much?] _

_ [Steve: I was going to let it slide but he was making ppl uncomfortable] _

_ <No it’s perfect> _

_ <Tbh you’re nicer than I would be> _

_ <You blurred out his face> _

Bucky cradles his phone against his sweaty chest, listening to the water run for another long minute. He can’t -- he has to leave sometime, he can’t stay in here forever. But for just a moment, he can lean against this marble sink and think about his partner and  _ breathe _ . 

His phone buzzes again, right against his heart. 

_ [Steve: well yeah] _

_ [Steve: Hey you want Jumex] _

_ [Steve: I’m up round the corner store] _

_ <Get me a pear> _   
_ <And then I want you to get yourself home, but don’t take a shower yet> _

_ <mb I’ll join u ;) > _

He’s already got his hoodie plastered back on by the time Steve responds, a single, breathless word:

_ [Steve: ok] _

He splashes more water over his cheeks and lips before slinking back to join his crew. Yuri and Artur are closing out with the client, Yuri still working shamelessly for a tip. Bucky tugs his hair back into a protective helmet and angles for the door. The client’s paying with credit so it’s not like he can get his cut today anyway. 

“I’ll take the dollies down,” he tells the team, and wraps them all up in a bundle of furniture pads. As soon as the truck is loaded, he’s gone. 

\--

The sun has already swapped out for street lights by the time he gets free of the ‘21, which doesn’t leave Bucky in any better mood. The pavement is still radiating heat from this unexpected Satan’s armpit of a day, which means it’s going to be a son of a bitch at home. His building is mixed-use and badly insulated; all the heat from the dive bar’s kitchen funnels straight to his place.

Fucking weather. Fucking work on a Saturday. He has Steve for two short days this week and here he is, sweating himself dry, for what?  An ‘honest’ wage?  Guys like him don’t grow up to have mortgages. Guys like him, the best you can do is hang on to the best you can get. 

His phone chatters again inside his pocket. Bucky draws it out and gives a death glare to the stupid fucking obvious phone snatcher waiting around the corner at the next crosswalk. Phone-snatcher looks startled and abruptly, awkwardly stuffs their hands in their pockets.

_ [Steve: Choose your destiny] _

The text is followed by another new emoji, a disturbingly smiley chicken. Bucky can’t help but snicker at it.

_ <Are you saying you want my cock> _

_ [Steve: It's for dinner :P] _

_ <I repeat ;) > _

A second emoji pops through, then a third. A hot pink pig and a cartoon cow. 

_ [Steve: Do you want TAMALES] _

_ [Steve: Chicken, pork, or beef :P] _

_ <I always want tamales> _

_ <Get six beef> _

_ [Steve: They’re out of green sauce btw :\ ] _

_ <Try the hipster store?> _

_ <You got time> _

_ <Gonna walk home> _

_ [Steve: Ouch] _

_ [Steve: One of those days?] _

_ <Yeah> _

_ <One of those ‘entire life’s’> _

As though it’s ever not ‘one of those days’. People say the mind’s a sieve, but his brain is more like the ocean: it’s when he turns his back that it gets the better of him.

His notebook is always in his hoodie pocket, so he finds the reddest page.  _ Stale air/heat(?) + elevator  _ goes under  _ Run _ , next to  _ MTA/tired  _ and incongruously,  _ Sphinx Coffee _ . He doesn’t remember being there, but he’ll take his word for it. He draws a question mark next to the coffee and picks up a Frapp slushie thing at a random 7-Eleven instead. The shaved ice doesn’t seem to do much for his still whirring arm, but the freeze quiets some of the noise in his head.

He doesn’t bother to text to see if Steve’s back at the apartment, just does a quick knock and shoulders the door open. The whole place reeks like cumin, or sweat. Either way, signs point to Steve.

“Hey-” he starts, and skids to a stop.

There’s an ominous device in the middle of the floor.

No. Not a ‘device’. It’s more mundane than that, like a radiator crossed with a vacuum cleaner. More Black and Decker than black ops. The contraption is a black rectangle maybe three feet tall with a crinkly hose stretched up to his only window. A grey plate extends across the bottom of the old window, holding the wobbly frame up so the hose can stick out and presumably vent.

There’s a sign taped to the box’s front, white paper with obscenely poster-perfect letters: “I AM A PRESENT.”

“Hey,” Steve says, somewhere to the left. He’s wedged against the sink holding a rubber duck-print dish towel that Bucky is 99% sure he doesn’t own. It looks like Steve’s drying the last of the dishes, which is both sweet and shitty because Steve is responsible for at most one of them. 

So of course, for all this, the first fucking thing out of Bucky’s mouth is “we already did Christmas.”

Steve grins over his shoulder like that statement itself is a gift.

“You forget? It’s your birthday.” 

Bucky ugly laughs and kicks off his work boots. There’s people who would be horrified that Steven Grant Rogers takes advantage of his memory problems, but he’s a got a calendar and he’s not a fool. Steve’s never known what to do with money, and now he has a stupid amount of it.

“Good thing it comes six times a year.” He holds up a foot. “I’d die without these fuzzy socks.”

“Aren’t those great?” Steve beams. He’s wearing a pair himself, huge puffy white clouds to contrast the black Bucky prefers. They’re made out of some super plush space-age insulation with little nonstick dots to keep you from falling on your ass.

“Like walking on sheep,” Bucky agrees. If only they didn’t absorb so much sweat. At this point it feels like he’s peeling off sponges. 

He circles closer to the strange radiator and taps it with the back of his flesh hand. Despite a ‘Warning: Hot’ sticker, it doesn’t seem to be radiating much of anything. Cool air puffs from a series of slats set at the very top.

Steve sets the last plate on top of the minifridge and comes over.

“It’s a combination a/c heater.”

Bucky taps it again. “Is it on?”

“Not for long. They take a while to get to temp. But it’s got this timer you can set to kick on before you get home.”

He bends down to show Bucky a series of buttons on the side of the black box. Possibly with more bending than strictly necessarily. He’s still wearing his workout gear, Bucky realizes with a jolt. Those floppy shorts that leave nothing to the imagination.

Just like Bucky told him.

“Or we could do things the old fashioned way,” Bucky grins. 

The tips of Steve’s ears instantly flush pink.

“Old old-fashioned or new old-fashioned?” Steve snarks back, but he’s already falling to his knees. It’s not particularly graceful. There’s videos on the internet of guys who do this like they were born to it, elegant curtseys and minute hand positions. Steve has always moved slightly left of reality, where he prances like a goddamn circus pony in battle but collapses like a pile of bricks when he’s trying so hard to be sensual. 

Goddamn it, Bucky loves him. 

“Well in case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t got an icebox,” Bucky says anyway. The true ‘old-fashioned’ would be shirtless, begging someone’s Ma for a chilled washcloth. In this day and age, he’s a bigger fan of team showers.

Steve shifts left and right until he’s settled, eyes half-lidded, legs angled apart. He rolls his shirt up an inch at a time, biting the pad of his thick lower lip like he thinks he’s bashful.

“You can take it off,” Bucky says, amused. Steve might be the worst actor Bucky has ever seen, but he tries so fucking hard. The sticky tee gets stuck somewhere around Steve’s ears and he steps in to help him. The punch of his sweat is a one-two hook right between the eyes, and Bucky wants -  _ fuck _ . 

Steve sighs and bows his whole body forward, leaning after Bucky’s touch like Bucky’s the one responsible for the cool fan. Bucky shifts to the side just slightly and Steve catches himself with his palms, immediately sinks back into a low ball. Some kind of yoga shit.

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“I say you could do that?”

Steve pushes back into a proper kneel like a live wire’s run through him. 

“Sorry,” he says. There’s a petulant edge to his tone. “I was trying not to push you.”

Bucky lays his metal hand on the crest of Steve’s head, watches it dip under the weight.

“It’s okay. I was just thinkin’.”

“You don’t have to if it’s not a good day,” Steve says stubbornly. 

Bucky shakes his head. “It wasn’t that bad. We can still play if you want to.”

Steve nods so hard his head might fall off. 

“You have no idea,” he breathes. Already shifting into that lower register. There’s a voice he gets when they’re together like this, deeper and raspier than everyday. Except when Bucky makes him keen high. Oh god, can he get Steve’s range up there.

“You been waiting for me?”

“All day,” Steve says. “All week.” 

Bucky cracks his right shoulder into skew with its mate and lets the power pool down into his spine. This is it, the make or break. They can talk about the shit they think they like, they can make plans with stickers and graphs, but it’s still theoretical until they prove it. 

He catches Steve just under his chin, feels Steve’s jaw bob as he swallows his own spit. 

“There’s things I want to do to you,” he says. “But I don’t want to push it.”

He can feel Steve’s teeth click into ‘stubborn’ position. 

“Try me.”

“I know you don’t like being teased.”

Steve turns his face into Bucky’s palm and nips.

“I can handle it.”

“Don’t want you to ‘handle’ it. I want you to  _ want _ it. I want you to be down on those knees. I want you out of your goddamn mind.”

Each word makes Steve’s breath hitch faster, tiny puffs heating his palm. When he sinks his hand into Steve’s hair and pulls, Steve’s whole body comes with it. 

“I can do it. I want to. If I can’t -” Steve makes a sour face. “Then I’ll tap out. Okay?”

Bucky wraps Steve’s longest hairs around his fingers and gives him a long, satisfying pull, until Steve’s mouth is sliding open and his eyes are sliding shut, and everything in his body says “oh my god, yes, use me.”

Bucky presses a chaste kiss to his forehead and lets him go.

“Okay. You’re a fucking gift.”

Steve sways on his knees, still technically at attention but no longer resting on his heels. His eyes are still closed, peaceful. Stark contrast to the angle of his hips. Steve’s spreading his legs like there’s an itch there he can’t wait to ride out, and every move Bucky makes he can see Steve arching toward him, orienting to the sound of Bucky’s breath. 

“So. You really went running like that?” Bucky asks, aiming for nonchalant. He misses the mark by about ten miles.

“Yeah?” 

Steve’s full lips press into a triumphant little smirk. He knows what he looks like in those bitty shorts. Knows it’s impossible not to imagine his package bouncing in time with his tits.

Bucky shakes his head, even though Steve can’t see it.

“You say you don’t like the papps and then you go wearing these.”

Steve’s eyelids flutter rapidly, like he’s desperately fighting not to open them. 

“Blaming the victim?” 

Bucky holds up his hands.

“Sorry, sugar,” he says. “I just meant, it’s hard not to stare at your ass. Surprised you didn’t cause a goddamn accident.”

He stalks back into the blessed circle of fans, light on his toes so it’s harder for Steve to track his movements. There’s a creaky floorboard he avoids out of habit; Steve sets it off himself as he shifts his weight around trying to hear where Bucky is moving.

Bucky leans in from behind Steve’s right shoulder and brushes just the tip of his nose along Steve’s neck. Sweat is trickling down his back and he doesn’t even remotely fucking care. There is nothing, nothing like the rush of being fully covered when Steve is all but bare, save maybe the way Steve shivers when he’s touched.

“You like it when they stare at you,” he rasps. “You like the whole world to see those pretty tits bounce.”

Steve squirms his thighs together, pushing his package up further. There’s a dime-sized wet spot already forming on the outside of his shorts. 

“Like it when you watch,” Steve tells him.

Bucky leans in over Steve’s right shoulder and brushes just the tip of his nose along Steve’s neck. He doesn’t trust his left arm so he picks up the metal hand with his right and positions it manually against the curve of Steve’s ass.

“I wanna watch this tight little ass move. Wanna get my hands all over it.”

Bucky flicks the tip of his tongue against the side of Steve’s throat and the jolt that runs through him is like licking a battery. 

“Now hit the showers.”

Steve rises like a shot and twists eagerly in Bucky’s direction, like he expects he can step right into Bucky’s arms. Bucky dodges like a matador, smacks him across the butt for his trouble.

“I said, get moving,” he scolds. “Told you I wanna watch that ass. I want you to take it all off.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. You’re gonna get the shower on, you’re gonna get yourself naked, and then you’re gonna wait for me. Can you do that?”

Steve’s voice could rival granite.

“Yeah,” he groans. 

“Good.”

Steve gets up even shakier than he went down, walks with a hitch all the way to the bathroom. 

“Next time, I’m gonna make you crawl,” Bucky promises and the hitch gets even more pronounced, like the thought itself is enough to bring Steve to his knees. He waits until Steve is safely in the washroom before he rips his own hoodie off and throws it, basking in the heady rush of cool.

Steve is always bringing him things, little gifts he thinks Bucky will like - fancy jerky and tamales and green sauce and apparently now magical air conditioners. Does up the dishes even though he generates a quarter of them. He’s so -- he  _ likes _ making Bucky happy, serving him. And some days it feels like they’re going to wake up, but Bucky can’t help it. He wants to enjoy this as long as he has it, wants to explore the limits of what they can give each other. 

So the least he can do is take off his goddamn clothes.

Bucky takes three deep breaths and yanks off his t-shirt on four, kicks off jeans and underwear and socks on five-six-seven. He feels - he’s  _ incomplete _ , is how he feels, like he took off his knees along with his clothes. Like there’s too many edges to him, a cartoon character that’s all limbs. He’s never naked when he’s in charge like this and his arm whirrs and whirrs and whirrs, trying to brace for an impact that’s not there.

It’s not pushing him into the red though. The longer he stands, the faster he acclimates, until the random racket at his shoulder dies down and the butterflies settle in his stomach. In a way, it’s almost nice. Sometimes he needs to walk on the barbed wire ringed around his comfort zones, just to trust where the boundary is. And Christ. Even if he teases this only five minutes, Steve’s still going to lose his ever-loving mind. 

He swings by his dilapidated bookshelf to snatch a fistful of prophylactics and deposits them on the bed next to the economy sized lube. Some nights he wonders if people would think it’s sad he has a pump action slick dispenser, but Steve isn’t People. Steve thinks it’s hot when the bed’s made with picnic tarp and ugly towels; Steve gets excited when he leaves out rope and new boxes of condoms. Bucky lays out said towels and tugs the big lube close, then switches his work gloves out for thin nitrile. If he has two plastic gloves squished over his metal hand, he’s less terrified the plates are going to pinch.  

Head to toe nude, and decked out like he means to  _ touch _ . If there’s a show on earth that could appeal to Steve more, Bucky’s yet to think of it.

Bucky slinks toward the bathroom on the balls of his feet, avoids the creaky boards in the floor. Steve didn’t even pretend to shut the door and a pleasant mist is billowing out into the room - not steam so much as a cool drizzle. Steve’s beautiful shoulders are visible through the shitty frosted shower curtain, broad and impossible, taking the brunt of the spray. He can tell the exact instant Steve realizes what he’s seeing, how his whole body lights up from head to feigned nonchalance.

He tugs the curtain aside and lets Steve stare.

“Got room for one more?” he asks. “Wanna make this a  _ hot _ shower.”

Steve snorts.

“If you can fit your ego in.”

The cubicle is criminally small, barely enough for one ridiculous spread of shoulders, let alone two. In a previous life it had possibly been a mop sink. Steve moves without protesting, though. Bucky presses one hand to Steve’s chest and makes him walk backwards until he hits the wall, pins him there under the spray. Every inch of his lover goes loose-limbed and relaxed, and Steve sighs like this is the easiest he’s been all day. 

“You like that?”  Bucky asks. He can feel the way Steve’s heart speeds under his fingertips, steadily pounding, then racing faster. “Fuck yeah, you do. Gonna clean you up so I can get you dirty.”

“That is so bad,” Steve complains, but he’s already shifting up onto his toes. 

Bucky gropes around for the Irish Spring, finds a dissolving chip on the rim of the shower. The water’s hardly strong enough to piss outside its designated zone, but the steam has the soap all nice and soft anyway. Bucky scrubs it up and down over his chest, catching suds in the thick hair all down to his treasure trail. The perfume is so powerful it’s nearly painful, but that’s the point, isn’t it?  It lingers like sex for days on his pillow, like wearing Steve’s jizz but more socially acceptable. 

Since the water’s not strong enough to push it away, he makes it his mission to spread the lather all the way beneath his balls. Steve’s hands make aborted twitching movements, like he wants to help but he can’t quite commit. 

“Good,” Bucky tells him. “So good for me.”

Back farther, between the cheeks. He turns around to rinse some water down his crack and Steve’s hips thrust clear off the wall.

“C’mere,” he demands. “But don’t touch. You keep your hands to yourself, or you don’t grab your dick for a week.”

Steve staggers forward like there’s a string tied to his dick leading him wherever it points. Bucky catches him with his whole body this time, slams up into him and holds fast until Steve goes still. And then. Fucking hell. There is nothing he likes more than rubbing up on Steve in the shower, feeling his nipples catch against Steve’s pecs. He works his body in deep, sweeping circles, scrubbing Steve up and down with his own slippery chest, using Steve like his own personal wash board.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers reverently. His hands keep awkwardly rising up to touch and then yanking away at the last second, like his brain’s not connected with what his body’s doing.

  
“Hold still,” Bucky warns. “Mm. Getting me all slippery.” 

“Jesus, Buck.” Steve’s voice sounds absolutely wrecked and it rolls down Bucky’s back like the water. He feels the impending swoop cascade down his stomach but it’s impossible not to get hard. His cock swells and catches against Steve’s, throbbing in a way that’s harder to ignore than usual. Steve whimpers and visibly twitches when they align.

“What’s your color?” 

“Green,” Steve whines. “Oh my god.”

He twists around and replaces his obnoxious dick with his ass instead, grinds his back against Steve’s front. He can feel Steve shake from tip to tail, trying desperately not to thrust when Bucky’s ass slots perfectly with Steve’s cock.

“So good,” Bucky sighs. “Keepin’ so still for me. You want to touch me? You can hold it, but you can’t jerk me off.”

They’re into tricky territory again but Steve isn’t calling yellow. He makes the deepest, most desperate plea, more air than words.

“Yes, fuck, please - wanna touch you -”

Bucky reaches behind him where one of Steve’s fists is bumping, white-knuckled, at his hip. He drags it forward to cover his cock. 

“Hold me up,” he growls, arching his entire body back against Steve’s chest. “Get me  _ wet _ .”

He nearly misses the moment that Steve goes weak in the knees but then Steve’s weight hits all at once and he has to brace so they don’t go down. Steve’s body buckles forward and Bucky takes it across his back, lets Steve have this. 

“You feel so good,” Steve moans. His fingers flutter hard around Bucky’s dick, like it takes everything in his power just to hold them still.  

Bucky takes two long, very deep breaths. The water around them screams like his pulse in his ears. 

“You like getting me hard?  You like my dick?”

“Yeah,” Steve pants, hot and heavy in his ear.

Bucky reaches back and seizes his hand in Steve’s sopping wet hair. 

“I could throw you down right now, fuck your face until you choke. You want that?”

“Yes!”

“You got me so ready. Or do you wanna fuck?  That’s your choice, like we talked about. Do you want to keep going?”

“Oh my god.”

Steve’s hand jacks all the way to the base of Bucky’s cock and seizes there like a vise. Not quite a violation of the no-jerking rule, but getting there. His hips slam hard against Bucky’s ass and  _ fuck. Fuck _ . Steve’s cock is nestled between Bucky’s cheeks like it belongs there and Steve is making the most delicious noises. Steve wants him so much and Bucky is going to take him apart.

“Sugar.”

God, Steve’s not even complaining about the pet name.

“ _ Steve _ , do you want to keep going?”

“Yes,” Steve pants. “Mother of god, yes.”

Steve bites frantic kisses all over Bucky’s shoulder, each one more frenetic than the last. The shower is starting to feel claustrophobic, Steve’s weight and the mist crowding into Bucky’s pores. Bucky peels Steve’s fingers away from their death grip on his dick, redirects them to glide up and down his chest, his belly, the sharp v of his iliac furrow.

“We’ll try it,” Bucky tells him. “But you gotta turn around first, all right?  Got to get you relaxed.”

He uses his grip on Steve’s wrist to turn him, smashes him face first against the slick tile. 

“Gotta do your other side.”

Bucky soaps up his front again, big piles of suds from his nipples to his balls, and launches forward with even less reserve than before. He drags a slick finger down the center of Steve’s back, deep into Steve’s ass crack, and the noise Steve make is unworldly.

“Spread ‘em,” Bucky growls. He slaps the tender inside of Steve’s thighs and Steve’s legs spring open like a shot. “Good.’

He cups his flesh hand and fills an entire palm with warm water, pours it down the sensitive track between Steve’s ass cheeks. Steve makes a broken noise and rucks up on his tiptoes. When he presses the pads of his fingers against Steve’s asshole he can feel it flutter.

“Look at you,” he tells Steve. “Beggin’ so pretty. You want me to eat you out?”   
  


“What kinda question is that?” Steve gasps wetly. 

There’s a sensitive stripe at the crease where Steve’s ass meets his thigh. Bucky pinches it with his metal fingers.

“Do you want me to eat you out?” Bucky repeats.

“Yes - oh  _ shit _ .”

“Hang on,” Bucky says. He checks to make sure that Steve’s leaning hard enough on the wall before he pokes his head out of the shower. The curtain is hiked all funny and water is getting everywhere but he could give a good goddamn. And of course he forgot to bring a pro into the bathroom, but he does have another box of gloves, and the first-aid safety scissors. He snags them and starts cutting the palm out of one of the gloves, because necessity is the mother of goddamn invention. 

“Spread yourself for me,” he tells Steve. “I wanna see where I’m kissing you.”

Steve grunts and makes a show of angling his whole torso against the wall, like putting his cheek to the tile is the greatest trial of the age, but he does as he’s told and reaches back to hold his cheeks apart. Bucky ignores his fussing and sinks down to his knees as slowly as humanly possible. He spreads the makeshift dam over Steve’s hole and presses his thumb directly over the pucker. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Steve groans.

Bucky takes away his finger and replaces it with his tongue. 

“Bucky!” Steve actually shrieks.

“There we go,” he croons. “Stop thinking. I got you.”

The barrier tastes like nothing, like warm water and body heat and plastic. Steve smells like soap and faint tang from his own arousal. There’s still nothing he likes more than eating Steve out til he shakes, until that tension corded in his back gives up and his knees go weak. Steve’s cries pitch higher and higher until they’re breathy sobs. 

He can feel the exact minute that Steve’s balance starts to go, when the helpless squirming veers to a complete loss of stability. Bucky seizes Steve’s hips and pins him to the wall. 

“Good,” he tells him. “So good for me.”

He shoves his flesh hand between them and tests Steve’s cock. He’s hard enough to cut diamonds and the sound that comes out of him is enough to power a wet dream ten thousand times over.

“You close?” 

“Yes.”

Bucky rises up and snaps off the shower. 

For a moment the only sound is the ragged pace of their breathing, harsh and out of sync with the leak from the showerhead. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and pulls him back into his chest, stroking him.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “That’s perfect.”

Steve is trembling against Bucky’s belly, like he doesn’t dare move of his own volition. He can feel Steve’s pulse fluttering in his dick when he touches it.

“Get out and wait for me,” he growls. 

Steve hasn’t been drunk since 1940-and-change but he moves like he’s three sheets to the wind. He doesn’t dare towel Steve off right away because the stimulation might make him come, but he wants Steve to watch while he gets himself dry. His own dick is a pleasant ache, honing in his focus instead of being a distraction. 

When he bends over to get a fresh towel from beneath the sink, Steve makes a noise like a bursted balloon.

“Get in my bed,” Bucky grins and fastballs the towel directly into Steve’s face. Steve squawks and gives him his saddest Captain America face, but he obeys again and stumbles out.

He takes an extra minute to shake out his own hair before giving it up for a lost cause. Without conditioner it’s going to end up as a ratty, frizzy mess, and Steve’s going to tell him he looks like a drowned beaver, but he’ll still beg for Bucky to touch him anyway. 

Steve is naked and kneeling on the mattress when Bucky comes out, flushed all the way to the v of his hips. When he sees that Bucky is still naked, he breaks out in goosebumps. 

Bucky tastes his own nerves on his lips, salt from the sweat that’s already starting to rise again. 

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” he tells Steve. His voice is more sure now. “I’m gonna ride that pretty face of yours.”

Steve’s lips part like he’s already picturing it. 

“Oh yes.”

“And then you’re going to  _ fuck  _ me, nice and slow, just the way I like it.”

“Oh my god, yes.”

“The trick is, you’re going to wear  _ this _ .”

He leans over the side of the mattress into the milk crate that doubles for his night stand, pulls out the soft sack that stores all their toys. The new bag is soft velvet in a purple that matches its contents. The dildo is sparkly purple with concentric rings along its length, “ribbed for their pleasure” according to the packaging. It’s thicker than Steve, slightly longer; a masterpiece of silicon engineering.

And hollow.

Bucky’s heart is in his throat. He goes down on his knees beside Steve.

“You get to fuck me but you don’t get to feel it,” he says. “You can make me come, but you can’t. That’s the price, baby.”

Steve’s lips are parted in supplication.

“I can do it,” he rasps. “My god, Buck.”

“You get soft, it’s going to fall out,” he warns. “It falls off before I get off?  You don’t come for  _ three _ weeks.”

“Okay.” Just like that, no hesitation. Even though this can’t be what he’d expected when Bucky asked about surprises, even though it’s the far edge of the teasing they’ve discussed. Steve trusts him not to take it too far, he trusts him to make the right call for both their hearts.

And Bucky. Fucking. Loves. Him.

“C’mere,” Bucky growls. “Get me wet. Gonna let you fuck my fist.”

He holds out his soft hand palm up and Steve fills it with a long glistening stream of lube. Bucky rubs his hands together and strokes his flesh fingers all over Steve’s cock, slides down to the base to feel how thick and full his balls are.

“All this pent up. You savin’ your sugar for me?” Glances at Steve’s face. It’s a test as much as anything. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. His lips are red as his dick. He looks like he’s ready to eat Bucky alive.

Bucky closes his left fist in a loose circle, holds it at just the right height for Steve to fuck. If he keeps it real still there’s less chance the plates will shift. He has nightmares about that sometimes, that he’s gonna pinch Steve’s dick even through the gloves. Steve acts like this is his dream come true and humps him so hard he nearly smacks his arm back into his face.

“Bucky,” Steve moans. 

“Yeah, you like my hand? Let’s see how you like it now.”

He stills Steve with a kiss and squirts lube inside the hollow dildo. It takes a lot to get it coated - it’s bigger than Steve in all respects, both the length and the overall girth. When he sheaths it over Steve’s cock, Steve groans and squirms -- and then squeaks as the retaining band stretches over his balls.

“Okay?”

“I think?”

Steve wiggles his hips, swinging his new adornment back and forth. The toy is heavy enough to pull his erection down and he hisses when it bobs against his own leg. Bucky catches it with his metal hand and tugs it up.

“Can’t feel this, can you?” he breathes.

Steve licks his lips, considering. His forehead scrunches up.

“Not really?”

“How ‘bout this?”

Bucky squeezes tight, tighter than he’d ever dare with bare skin. The toy bows in but true to the reviews, it doesn’t break. Steve makes a noise barely audible to humans.

“My ass isn’t that tight,” Bucky teases. “But you’ll still get some pressure.” He eases up his grip and pats Steve’s cock right on the tip. Steve is still staring at his metal fist like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Kinky son of a bitch,” Bucky says approvingly. Steve snorts.

He takes a deep breath and claps his hands on Steve’s chest, pushes him back onto the mattress so there can be no misunderstanding. Steve goes down like the whole world’s rolling off his shoulders. Like maybe it’s spinning the other way, but for once it’s not his job to hold it up.

“You wanna eat me out?” 

“Oh my god, please.”

“Get a pro,” he tells him. “Under the pillow.” More to buy himself time than anything else. Bucky could rest on his hands and knees or he could lay back with his legs up around Steve’s head, but he’s going to have to pick  _ something _ . For another dizzying moment there is that sense of wrongness, like he left his organs in a pile with his clothes, but it passes. It passes. He’s not any less in control because he’s naked tonight and Steve is watching with him like he hung the stars. He’s sitting up with the entire ridiculous fuckin’ jug of lube, because of course he doesn’t know what Bucky is thinking. He’s just ready.

He’s so fucking beautiful and he trusts Bucky so fucking much.

Bucky catches Steve’s shoulders and leans him back more slowly this time, spreads him out over the mattress like butter. He straddles Steve’s narrow hips and turns around on all fours, backs all the way up til his ass is in Steve’s face. He can see Steve’s cock jerk even with the heavy toy on his balls.

“Lick me,” he says.

He feels the odd squish of cool lube in his crack, hears the chip-bag crinkle as Steve unwraps the dam. It’s so strange and good and he doesn’t know if he’ll actually be able to come today, but does know he wants to try. When Steve’s tongue touches the sweet spot on his rim, it sends a desperate twang through his nipples.

“That’s it,” he gasps. “Right there. Greedy for it, aren’t you sugar?  I could throw you down anywhere, sit on your face. You’d beg me for it, wouldn’t you?”

Steve moans right against his hole and it traces a line of lightning all the way through his cock. He grunts and takes his own cock in his metal hand so Steve doesn’t get any big ideas. The metal is blood warm from the shower and Steve’s skin and it’s so strange to be shivering like this when he’s never naked. 

“Make you a deal,” Bucky says. “You want to stop, any time, I’ll take it off. You wanna try to make me come you can, but if you don’t, I’ll see that you get yours. One of the good ones. You got that?”

“Mmph,” Steve hums. He doesn’t sound interested at all. His tongue keeps circling relentlessly right where Bucky’s the most sensitive, like they goddamn built him from titanium in that lab and the one thing he was meant to do is serve Bucky, not his country. 

Relax. He has to relax, or the whole scene doesn’t work. 

“That’s enough,” he tells Steve. “Goddamn, the mouth on you. I should vid you sometime.”

Steve’s face is still buried between his cheeks but he can feel how much he vibrates at the thought. Their new phones are still too shitty to have decent cameras but they could get better burners. He has money now. Steve has money. They could buy fancy StarkPhones and send full 3D holos when Steve is upstate. 

Bucky leans forward and slaps Steve’s hip hard. The purple dildo is still secure between Steve’s legs, nice and snug around his balls. He gives it a squeeze with the left hand, hard enough to transmit some pressure. Steve wails and shudders beneath him.

“C’mon. Get me ready. You got a long way to go.”

Steve pulls back and flops his hand around for gloves, barely seems coordinated enough to work his hands. The dam smacks into the wall right above the trash can and sticks there.

“Your aim is shit, Rogers.”

“Little distracted.”

Slick fingers nudge against his hole and it takes everything he has not to jump. Steve pushes inside and he clamps down on the fingertip instinctively, too wound up to let go and accept it. He curls his metal fingers into a cage and squeezes Steve’s bound cock again. 

“You feel how tight I am?” he groans. “Gonna take it so hard.”

He flexes against Steve’s finger, pulsing the tip deeper and then back. One-two, in-out. He doesn’t need to see Steve’s face to know the expression that goes with that tiny cry. 

“Please,” Steve begs. He pushes a second fingertip in, rotates it desperately like he can make Bucky open up by sheer force of will. Bucky tightens up and braces on it for a long moment. He’s trained to control every muscle in his body, and he could open up and take Steve’s entire fist if he wanted to. But Steve’s not the one in charge here, and he can trap him as long as he likes.

“You’re not gonna feel it. I’m gonna be so hot, and you’re wrapped up so tight. You’re gonna watch me come all over those pretty tits.”

“Yesss,” Steve hisses. 

Bucky pinches Steve’s thigh until Steve’s fingers jerk inside him. 

“Get me deeper. Get me  _ wet _ . If I can’t drop down on that dick in one try, you blew your shot.”

Steve makes a broken noise and angles his slick fingers up and  _ in _ . 

Bucky grinds his fists into the meat of his own quads, focuses on keeping himself open and loose. Steve is less experienced but he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm, and Bucky’s lips are starting to tingle in time with his legs. His cheeks are starting to glide together every time Steve’s fingers pull out, so slick with lube he’s got to be shining.

“You like that, filling me up?  Gettin’ me sloppy.”

“Fuck, yes,” Steve groans. “God Buck, you’re killing me.”

“Nah,” Bucky grins. “That’s coming.”

He reaches between his own legs and catches Steve’s wrist just below the glove, holds it fast so he can use his own weight to grind back even harder against the fingers inside him. Monday through Friday he knows how to fuck himself; he knows what he needs, how hard, and how fast. Steve’s whole body is his playground now, and he is going to use him for all he’s worth.

“That’s it,” he pants, guiding Steve’s fingers over his sweet spot. “You feel that there?  That’s gonna make me come on your face.”

He pulls off Steve’s hand altogether and crawls away so he can turn around. His own cock is a distant ache, like a long walk after a run. Steve’s face is a mess of spit and sweat and awe, glassy-eyed, panting. 

“You with me, sugar?”

“Green,” Steve gasps. He sounds like he’s choking on his own spit.

Bucky peels the soiled glove off him with a towel and chucks it in the general direction of the trash. It winds up lost somewhere else in the floordrobe and there’s nothing he could care about less. 

“Last chance,” Bucky warns him. “But you don’t want me to suck you off, do you?  You want to  _ fuck _ me. Til I feel it in my teeth.” 

“Yes,” Steve chants. “Yesyesyes I’ll do anything. Bucky,  _ please _ .”

“Then get on me.”

He takes a deep breath and draws Steve’s hands to his own hips, helps Steve help him under Steve’s trembling body. They’ve had vanilla sex before and Steve is always so careful, three thousand pillows and blankets just-so. There’s no finesse to his movements now. Steve grabs the nearest pillow he can find and jams it beneath Bucky’s hips. Even through the silicon sheath Bucky can feel him, hot and full and probably aching.

“Does it hurt, sugar?” he asks, stroking his hands down Steve’s trembling shoulders. “You thinking about how hard you want to dick me?”

Steve nods, open-mouthed, staring like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. He’s got his dick tucked up against Bucky’s ass, rocking in little aborted thrusts as if that’s going to do anything for either of them. Still waiting for permission.

“So good for me,” Bucky tells him. “Come on. There we go.”

It takes both of them together to line Steve up correctly, and longer to adjust to the ridges on the unfamiliar dildo, but when he gets all the way home -  _ Christ _ . Bucky has taken big toys before but they’re nothing like this, attached to a living, breathing person. Every shiver Steve makes resonates through Bucky’s body, rippling inside through the deep pressure on his sweet spot. Steve’s entire face has gone cross-eyed and slack, like it doesn’t matter that he can’t feel it. He drives his hips home like a piston and fireworks skitter across Bucky’s spine.

“Slower,” Bucky orders, digging his heels into Steve’s back. Usually when they fuck his hips are a wave, drawing far out and scooping back in, but he’s too excited right now to draw out more than an inch. “You know what I like.” 

“Buck,” Steve wails. He keeps petting at Bucky’s face like he can’t bear not to touch him but he obeys. 

“You gotta stay hard for me,” Bucky reminds him. “Got it?  You lose it, this falls off, and I don’t get what I want.”

Steve’s hips jerk hard again and he claws at the mattress. Wetness shimmers at the edges of his eyes but he’s not calling yellow. He’s not saying much of anything in English.

“Got it? What’s your color?” 

“Green,” Steve gasps. His voice is so slurred but he’s beaming through the tears. “God, Buck, I want to, just let me -”

“Shh. Shh, okay.” 

He grabs Steve’s ass and draws him deeper, forces him to swivel his hips in a tight circle. A slow-motion starburst explodes throughout his belly and he rides it out in full body shakes. 

Christ, he - he  _ could _ come like this, naked, on his back. He never feels it so immediate like this, never wants it when he’s got Steve wanting it, but right now it feels unstoppable. 

“This what you want?” Bucky whispers. “Me shaking on your dick?”

Steve drops his head to Bucky’s shoulder and grinds his forehead there. For a moment Bucky thinks he’s going to call it but then he feels the slightest of nods. 

Bucky licks his lips. 

“Then fuck me like I showed you,” he says. His own voice is a little unsteady. “I want to feel it in my goddamn teeth.”

Steve doesn’t raise up for a second, just clings on tighter, caging Bucky in with hands and elbows and sheer, raw strength. His hips draw back only enough to repeat the motion Bucky just taught him, rolling the thickest knob of the toy right where Bucky needs it most. And there is no air. There is no air.

“Buck,” Steve whines into Bucky’s neck like Bucky’s name is the only word he knows. His breath sounds like a train, wind and fury and earth-rattling drive to keep moving. 

“Yeah, there you go. There you go, sugar.” He’s too unfocused to do anything more than pet, hands riding Steve’s spine like the crest of a wave. Steve’s eyes are wet against his cheek and he can feel every single muscle in Steve’s back shaking with the need to drive harder, faster.

“Just the way I like it,” Bucky tells him. “Feels so good, the way you fuck me. Think I should keep you?  Maybe you’re my new favorite toy.”

He wiggles his soft hand between their bodies to palm the tender plain of Steve’s low belly. There’s barely an inch between them and the heat is unbelievable. He curls his fingers into a fist and grinds the knuckles into the sorest place where Steve’s pent up. When Steve thrusts next it’s like he’s chasing that pain and there are no words for the sound they both make. He’s so fucking full and Steve is so turned on but he’s letting Bucky use him because he gets it, he  _ listens.  _

“Maybe I never put you away,” Bucky gasps. “Maybe I want you in this bed forever.”  

It’s coming on him fast now, harder than he ever thought was possible and he flings his metal arm out just so he can hold on. Steve makes a wet noise and bites down into his neck. 

“Oh my god,” Steve sobs. “Keep me. Oh my god just _ keep me _ .” 

His metal fingers seize into the mattress, reacting before the rest of his body can catch up with his brain. The toy rolls inside him again and his whole world draws in toward the center, draws his balls and breath up tight, and then he is shaking out, out,  _ out _ .

“Keep me,” Steve keeps whispering into his skin. “I’m yours. Keep me.”

He pulls back together slowly, into a body that still doesn’t feel like his own, but the exhaustion it feels is absolutely familiar. Grounding, for once. Steve is still trembling and trying to thrust for him and it’s so sweet and painfully too much. Bucky cups his hands around Steve’s high hips and helps ease him out, so they can collapse together the way they need to.

“You did so good,” he tells him. “Shh. You were so good.”

Steve quivers and burrows his face deeper into the crux of Bucky’s neck, clinging with everything he has. Damp and salt are spreading everywhere, tangy at the back of Bucky’s tongue.

Bucky nudges Steve’s chin up so he can see his face. His cheeks are a mess of spit and tears and snot and jizz, dripping from beneath Steve’s chin. Christ. He shot so hard he got Steve’s fucking chin.  

“I got you,” Bucky says softly. Winding him down. “You’re okay. Do you need me to get you off?” 

Steve shakes his head back and forth like he’s underwater. His eyes are unfocused and fresh tears keep leaking out from the sides but he’s smiling so big he might as well be drunk.

“ ‘m okay,” Steve mumbles. 

“You sure? We can change the deal.”

“Green,” Steve says, a little more forceful. He collapses to Bucky’s right side, curling like he’s had all his strings cut at once. “Made you come.”

“Yeah, you did.” Bucky rubs his own sticky cheek against Steve’s shoulder, considering. Laughs. “Shit. I came on my  _ own _ face.”

There’s probably poetic shit he should say here, about love or trust or even just Steve’s smile. But words come hard these days, and plain old “thank you” seems inadequate. He concentrates on cuddling instead, stroking Steve’s side and nuzzling his head until his fuzziness starts to clear and the purple toy is drooping between Steve’s legs.

“Did you like it?” Steve asks him. The fuzziness has gone out of his voice some but he still looks sleepy-eyed and dopey. Bucky kisses the bridge of his wonky nose.

“Yeah. Don’t know if I could do it all the time,” Bucky admits. “It’s…a lot.”  

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers back. “Thank you.”

Bucky tugs the toy off his softening dick slow, wads it into a towel and kicks it half-heartedly toward the sink. Steve flops onto the floor and stretches like a cat, spine arched up and belly sucked back and - for fuck's sake. Bucky's just come but here he is staring again. He's not sure he'll ever be tired of staring.

“You wanna dress me?” Steve asks, grinning over his shoulder.  

Christ, Bucky loves him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Bring me your gear.”

Steve disappears into the bathroom, comes out with his cock cage and a shiny, freshly washed face.

“Keep me,” Steve sighs as he presents himself on his knees, ready to be locked back in for another week.

“Always,” Bucky says, and kisses the key.  

**Author's Note:**

> This fic most definitely includes: stone top engaging in intercourse (completely consensual), orgasm denial, cock cages.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Turn 'em out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213369) by [sallysparrow017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysparrow017/pseuds/sallysparrow017)




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